My Love, My Soldier
by Hearts of the Innocent
Summary: Bitter and angry, he is broken from war. Winry faces the hard challenge of making him realize that a life is still possible...and one with her, she hopes. And hope is all that's needed now. [AU]
1. Part 1: Reunion with a Broken Soldier

**My Love, My Soldier**

**-**

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA

_Hearts of the Innocent_

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**Author's Note**: _This is a fic heavily based on life's realities. And often times, reality is not happy—it can be hell on earth for some. So I wanted to take a real-world POV for our beloved characters with an added twist on the end. I've decided that this story takes place in 1945, during the WWII at the Battle of Iwo Jima. So if you're a lover of bittersweet moments, then read and enjoy._ _

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_Part One: Reunion With a Broken Soldier_

It was childhood friends till the end.

Literally.

And Winry was sorely tempted to hate him for that. It would be so easy, yet she just couldn't bring herself to travel down that horrid path. That's what loving someone did to you. It made you unsure of not only yourself, but of so many things in life. And it was even harder to hate them. It also made matters complicated. Winry Rockbell was a simple girl—one who hated complication in anything but mechanics.

And that's all that he was. Complicated.

Even in their childhood years, Edward Elric had been a smart little prick and royal pain in the backside. Always running away, getting himself (they even got her upon occasion) and poor Alphonse in trouble. But the threesome had been inseparable. She had often taken pride as a little girl that she had two brother's arguing who would have her hand in marriage when they got older.

As they grew, Ed remained the obnoxious boy she had always known—even after his mother died, but had accumulated a strong sense of responsibility and protectiveness for those he loved most. She began to see another side to Ed.

But America was on edge, and men and boys alike were being drafted into the war. So instead of waiting until the military found him, Edward and Alphonse Elric enlisted into the United States Marine Core their senior year of high school.

Oh, how bitterly she had wept that day.

And it was in the same day Winry realized how much she had truly come to love him.

Thrust away from the ghost of her past, twenty-three year old Winry held her breath while her eyes dreadfully scanned the list of names of the fallen. Hoping and praying that the names of her beloved friends weren't among them.

A few men had been chosen to return to the states, but not many. Winry still grasped for what little hope there was.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. They were alright after all.

The loud roar of the train's horn sounded and the excited murmurs of the waiting families rose a notch. Winry herself spun on heel excitedly; the knot in her chest tightening and she held her hand to her heart in an action that told those who knew her that she was overwhelmed.

It had been five years since she had seen the Elric brothers. And there had been five years of letters stuffed in her bedside table. Each night Winry would read and reread their letters, soaking up their fears, their worries of what they were facing, and imagining the grim horrors as they described them in full detail. But there was also something that worried her. Ed had tried to say something in his letters…but it came out as a jumbled mess. What had him so nervous?

The train had finally screamed to a stop and its doors began to open. Men garbed in forest green came bustling out, tired and worn—but excited nonetheless of being reunited with their families after so long.

'_Please be on,'_ she silently begged. Men of all sizes passed by her but none stopped before her. Twirling her finger in a strand of blonde hair (a nervous action) Winry stood on toe, hoping to see above the shoulders of those who crowded about her. A small cough and pardon of excuse sounded from behind.

"Are you Ms. Winry Rockbell?"

Winry turned warily to the man. Dread filled her lungs and her breathing grew shallow. The man, judging by the number of metals on his coat and sleeve, looked to be high in rank. Dusty brown hair fell to his shoulders.

"I am," was all she could manage to say.

Without another word, he handed her a small, off-white envelope with a wax seal that had yet to be opened. It had the hospital Coat of Amour on it.

And uncanny feeling of apprehension filled her and Winry, now oblivious to the man's disappearing presence, opened it with trembling fingers.

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_I am sorry to report that Private First Class, Edward Elric of the USMC has been mortally wounded in the events of Iwo Jima. Caught in the blast of a neighboring Zippo Tank, Mr. Elric's arm and leg were seared and had to be amputated in fear of the spread of infection. He has been sent back to the U.S. to St. Mary's Memorial in George Town, Alabama. Please come at once._

_Most Sincerely,_

_Head Nurse, Riza Hawkeye _

The world suddenly turned bleaker than she had ever felt it to be. In the midst of the excitement, Winry slowly sunk to her knees, still staring at the letter and its horrid contents.

'_His arm and his leg?'_ Tears began to slip from beneath her lashes in a slow, steady stream quickly turned into body-racking sobs. She couldn't think past the painful beating of her heart. She bit her lip until she was sure it was bleeding.

'_Oh, Edward'_

_

* * *

_

Beep

Beep

Beep

Even drugged up as he was, he found no solace in sleep. He was aware of everything going on around him, yet he had no control over his body. He could hear the annoying beeps of the machinery beside him yet he couldn't open his eyes to see its source, nor could he move his hands and legs. He might as well be out cold. Edward dearly wished that to be the case. His ears were still partially deaf from gunfire, and the screams of his fallen comrades still echoed painfully inside his mind. Having no control whatsoever, to top it all off, made it _hell._

The curtain covering his bedside was pushed aside and the small whispering of two unfamiliar voices reached his ears.

"Is he awake, Doctor?"

"No. He's still out cold."

The doctor shuffled around his cot, checking his iv and the wounds inflicted upon his body. "Everything seems to be fine."

"For now, anyway."

Edward caught the female's small voice. Interest and alarmed sparked, he strained to hear.

The doctor made a noise in the back of his throat for agreement. "Elric should heal just fine. The rest will be up to him and how strong his will to live is. I'll be honest with you, Miss Rose, I have seen it countless times since this horrid war began. When a man looses an arm or a leg, it's like a blow to his pride. He think's he useless, and that his life no longer holds meaning because he's been handicapped. Months after medical leave, I hear word that the man has died by suicide or drug over-dosage. They can't bear to live. Mr. Edward here has lost _both_ and will have to work even harder if he wants a sense of normality. But life he has lived to this point is over. That's why I had Ms. Hawkeye send word to his home. Maybe someone will come for him. He can't do this alone."

'_I've lost...my arm? My leg?_

What little hearing he had left, dissipated into nothingness. And a disbelieving and overwhelming sense of panic began to over wash him. He was numb and he was going into a state of shock—he knew.

Edward then lost all consciousness and fell prey to the nightmares that had haunted his sleep for the past five years.

* * *

Rose stared worriedly at the man—Edward, who continued to stare vacantly outside the hospital window for the second week since becoming conscious. He hadn't said a word since discovering the extent of his injuries, and that alone worried her. Why wasn't he yelling, why wasn't he angry? Why wasn't he showing any _emotion?_ Inhaling in deeply, Rose allowed a smile to follow with her exhale. 

"Good morning, Mr. Elric. I'm glad to see you're up."

His amber eyes slowly, very slowly moved from the window to her face, then back to the window.

Rose wasn't deterred. "The sun's bright in the sky and the lake is something to behold this morning, maybe we could go out soon. Fresh air will do you some good. You never know, maybe today will be the day your family comes."

Rose continued to ramble on, oblivious to his now angry eyes on her face.

"I have _no_ family." His voice was a deep, guttural sound; one that sent her heart hammering inside her chest because of its rawness.

Startled at his angry reply, the tin pitcher of water that she had been carrying slipped through her fingers, crashing loudly to the marble floor.

"How clumsy of me," she apologized quietly before grabbing a towel from the drawer and patting the floor dry of water. The man didn't say anything—to which she was grateful. She bid him good day and hurried from his bedside. Rose knew she mustn't let the patients get to her, but she was weak and her heart too sensitive. But she was afraid to harden her heart. After all, where would compassion come from in a cold heart?

She hoped someone would come for him soon. It was only too soon when he would crack.

* * *

Edward sat limply and awkwardly in the wheelchair he had been forced into. His left hand tightly clenched the arm of the horrid contraption, trying to keep his balance—having no right arm and no left leg. Rose had tucked a pillow beside him in order to ease the awkwardness. 

Beneath the faceless mask he wore, the young soldier cursed that horrid Hawkeye. The wench had forced him into the chair just so he could sit by the lake. He had fought the whole way, spouting every curse imaginable, but still they forced him out of his seclusion.

Despite the sun's heat, it held no warmth as it once had. He couldn't spar with beneath its rays with Al as he once had. He couldn't _walk_ beneath it so what was the point? He had no life. That doctor had been right. He was useless, and he _despised _that knowledge. He wanted his arm and leg back. He wanted Al back. He wanted Winry with him.

Winry

Her crestfallen look that she had given him before they left remained engraved in his heart he dearly wished he could see her smile just once more. But he highly doubted he would ever see her again.

Even if he did. How could she love a broken, _handicapped_ man?

A wave of depression, so strong, filled him and he closed his eyes and fisted his hand until his nails were digging into his palms.

Why couldn't he have just taken a bullet to the heart? Why did he have to be the one survive—as a broken man? Why couldn't he have just died on the shores of Iwo Jima, many of his comrades?

_So many whys!_

"Damn"

* * *

"How is he?" 

Rose stood behind the young woman who had come for the Elric soldier. Her blonde hair was messily braded down her back—a clear sign that she had spent many sleepless nights to reach here. Her milky white complexion looked ghostly in the shadows and the dark smudges underneath her eyes broadly spoke of her weariness.

"Not good, I'm afraid. He has not eaten since he arrived here and just day before yesterday we forced him outside. But it did little good. He still refuses, and has no," Riza paused. "He has not the will, Miss Rockbell. I understand this kind of trauma, and if he does not pull out of this depression, he will die."

The woman paled. "Can I see him?"

Riza nodded. "Rose will take you there."

The woman turned her startling blue eyes toward her and she nodded softly. "This way, ma'am."

Obediently, yet anxiously, Miss Rockbell followed close behind; fidgeting nervously with the button on her coat.

"Are you the one who takes care of him?"

Rose slowed her gate to where she was beside the woman. She nodded. "I am."

The woman gave a sad smile. "Thank you so much. You cannot even begin to comprehend my gratitude for what you have done—in keeping him alive, I mean."

The young nurse smile in return, but said nothing.

Rose peeked through the curtain. Edward was staring out the window with the same vacant expression she had come to associate him with. "His situation is delicate," Rose whispered lowly enough so he could not hear. "He may not be the same man—"

The woman grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly. A look of understanding and compassion filled her eyes that Rose was left speechless. Without saying a word, the blonde woman pushed aside the curtain and walked toward the man who had yet to acknowledge her.

Rose closed the curtain, but not all the way. She watched with a longing that she didn't understand as the woman slowly sat on the bed and reached out a trembling hand to caress the side of Edward's face. It took a minute for the young soldier to respond, but when he did, his amber eyes went wide with shock. More emotion passed through them in that instant than Rose had seen the entire time he had been here.

"Winry?" his voice was broken.

Her response was a small nod and a stifled sob. Without any hesitation or repulsion in her movements, unlike Rose had expected, Winry embraced Edward from his good side, and Edward's arm came around her awkwardly, at first, and then settled firmly around her waist.

"Come outside with me?" she whispered into his golden mane.

Slowly, as if unsure, the Marine nodded.

It was the first time the young soldier had willingly agreed to anything. Maybe, just maybe there was still hope for him after all. This Winry must really be some woman to be able to calm what many had labeled a 'Marine's Marine'.

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_Please review and tell me what you think!_


	2. Part 2: Homecoming

**Author's Note:** _Sorry for such a long update. My computer decided to fail me but thankfully I finally have it back! And I was surprised and pleased to get so many detailed responses! I kind __of wrote this story on a whim and I'm glad to see you all liked it so much. I hope to see you all in another review. But I am currently looking for a beta for this story, so if any of ya'll are interested please let me know._

_Read and enjoy_

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_Part Two: Homecoming_

It wasn't a compatible silence they sat in, nor was it awkward. It was just _silence._ And it was heavy. Neither knew where to begin, exactly. But still, even underneath the thick silence, there was also unspoken joy at being reunited after so long. 

Winry sat on the grass beside Ed's wheelchair, a thoughtful expression on her face as she stared out before her to the lake. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she gave a quick look at her friend from the corner of her eye. His golden gaze stared vacantly out at the very scene she had been admiring. Her heart broke at the dullness of his once lustrous orbs.

So she began with the obvious, an obvious that _needed_ to be confirmed.

"I've missed you so much, Ed." Her voice came out more shakily than she would have liked. He didn't seem to notice.

"I've missed you too, Winry." He jerked when she made as if to grab his hand, but allowed her to cradle it limply in her own.

"I thought I'd never see you again."

A bitter laugh escaped his throat before he could stop it. Oh, the irony in it all!

"There's not much left to see. Can't you tell?"

His mocking stung her but her voice became firm. "That's not funny," she said without missing a beat. "I can tell. But you're alive! That's what matters most."

Ed turned his head away from her, a familiar habit that had not changed over the years and was a clear sign he'd rather not talk. The young mechanic stood on her knees so she could face him eye to eye. But he continued to speak,

"What life is this, Winry? I am a useless man—"

"No—"

"Damn it, Winry, I am!" his voice rose above hers. "How the hell am I supposed to do anything for myself? I can't even shower without assistance."

It was as if the flood gates had been opened and the cocoon of numbness the broken soldier had wrapped around himself, finally shattered, and the full realization of his condition was thrust upon him in that instant and its fervency rose with his voice.

"How can you tell me that at least I am alive? I am a man incapable of ever working with his hands ever again, incapable of even walking normally, of ever loving the wom—" He broke off abruptly, his breathing uneven and his jaw tense.

When looked over at Winry, his eyes widened in surprise at intensity riveted in her features as deep lines that had not been there when he left. Her finger hovered warningly above his chest.

"Don't you even dare," she said furiously, "to think that you are _incapable _of loving someone, Edward Elric. And don't you _ever_ think you are incapable of _being_ loved."

His eyes flickered away but he said nothing.

"What would Al say to you if he heard this kind of crap?" she demanded.

This time he did meet her gaze. "Al's still in Iwo Jima—"

"But he'll be back! And when he is, is this the way you want him to find you?"

A heavy silence was drawn out. Neither speaking, Winry turned her head back to the lake that had lost its early serenity. Then standing up, she absentmindedly brushed of the tiny fragments of grass from her skirt and placed her hands on her hips; sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry. Having a word spar wasn't how I wanted our first meeting to end up." She exhaled, choosing her words. "But time will heal all things, Edward. But time is _needed_. Until then, are you ready to go home after five years?"

He closed his eyes, remaining silent.

Winry almost chuckled. Many things about her friend might have changed, but there were some things that just never would. Boldly, but gently, Winry grabbed his chin so he was forced to face her. His dull, amber orbs met her blue ones.

"Silly man," she smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. "Your home is with me. It always has been, always will be."

* * *

Before they left, Ed's prior nurse, Ms. Rose, gave Winry specific instructions for the care of Edward's wounds and the burns (that he had neglected to tell her of) that covered not only his arm, but his abdomen as well. 

Rose also told her what to expect during the next few months and the next few years, even. Just listening to it would make anyone become a pacifist. No one should have to go through this. _No one_. Winry knew she would be lying if she said she wasn't the least bit intimidated or remotely frightened. Truth be told…she was terrified.

'_You mustn't think of yourself,' _She consoled herself quietly. '_It's Ed who needs your care and love, now.'_

That was to be her resolve, she decided. Ed's welfare was most important and critical now. He needed her and that's all that mattered.

_'Ed needs me,'_

* * *

Ed fingered the worn leather of Winry's old beat-up Chevy. He almost smirked. He remembered when she had bought it from that over-rated junkyard. He had never seen a woman get so excited over a rusted, non-working, sorry-excuse for a truck. 

But that was just Winry; one of the many things that made her unique.

The old Chevy turned down a familiar road. He felt the knot in his stomach intensify. The prospect of going 'home' seemed so surreal. It had been five years since he'd been _home_. How much had changed? Beside the physical, how much had he changed?

As if detecting his thoughts, Winry lifted a hand from the steering wheel to pat his own nonchalantly.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Hmm."

Her demeanor fell slightly. "A lot has changed since you and Al left. Granny passed away two years ago, and—"

"You've been living alone?" he interrupted.

Sensing the implied, Winry nodded. "I really had no other choice. I wasn't ready to get married to some stranger." She chuckled dryly.

She said it with such frankness that Ed had to blink. "Then is it wise I stay with you? People will assume the worst."

He blinked again when Winry snorted.

"Edward. They talked because I was living alone, just as they have hounded me nonstop for being a mechanic. I'd have the subconscious of an old woman if I let it all affect me." She winked.

No visible emotion could be seen as he processed this new information. Why would anyone talk bad about Winry? She had the purest, most loving soul of anyone he had ever met. Edward numbly turned back to the truck window, completely missing the falling look upon Winry's face.

It was beginning to rain.

* * *

Winry knew it hurt his pride terribly when she had to help him from the truck and into his wheelchair. More often than not, she was sorely tempted to curse a man's pride and their father's who encouraged it. But she resisted purely on the note that it was instinct for most. 

She was just glad she had greater strength than most women; else she probably would have made not only him, but herself feel worse than they already did. Winry was also immeasurably grateful that in Granny's parting years, she had an incline installed so she wouldn't have to hurt her knees going up and down the porch steps.

Ed said nothing as she wheeled him quickly out of the drizzle and to the old cracker-house that her grandmother had dearly loved. She propped the screen door open with an old flower pot before quickly turning the key in the doorknob. She pushed him inside and smiled happily.

"Welcome home, Ed."

Though he could not see her face, her smile was obvious. He nodded slowly, looking around the old house's interior. Not much had changed in the course of five years. Sure, it now had Winry's touch added to it, but nothing really changed.

He had yet to decide if that was good or bad.

It being good, that despite of how drastically his own life had changed, there was a constant in the equation that was like his hold to reality—to sanity.

It being bad by being able to judge exactly how much he had really changed,…how he was no longer, and could no longer be the man who had once walked through these very walls.

Both were a possibility.

"Since Granny's room was bigger, I moved into there. So that means you'll be staying in my old one." Seeing his look, she chuckled. "Don't worry, it's not pink anymore, if that's what you're thinking. To be honest, I've become rather fond of green…"

Her constant chatter faded as he looked around her—his new room. It wasn't green, he gave silent thanks, but instead a sandy beige that spoke of a feminine touch. Crotchet runners fell over the large window, giving a perfect view to her beautifully tended garden outside. Ed vaguely heard himself hum in accord when she said she was going to get his bags out of the truck. His eyes were glued to the endless photos that littered the walls. Most were of him and Al when they were children, but many of them consisted of them in their older years. His eyes sought one picture in particular.

Using his good arm (his only arm), Ed slowly wheeled himself to the wall and slowly pulled the picture from underneath the pin.

It was of the day he and Al had left. Winry, whose eyes were still puffy from crying, had smiled weakly at the camera; an arm around each of their waists. Al's face was tight, but he had still managed to smile. Ed hadn't even managed that.

He looked at the arm around Winry's waist—the one he no longer had.

Ed dropped the picture before he could crumble it with his fist. Breathing now shallow, he held his whitened fist to his pursed lips.

"I bought a few things from the grocer the other day," he heard Winry call from the kitchen. _A blessed distraction, and yet a horrid interruption_. "Since this is your homecoming, you get to decide what's for dinner."

"I'm not hungry." He called back out to her, but not soon enough for she had already been leaning on the doorway. Her gaze was somber as she looked at the photo on his lap then back to his face.

"Please try, for me if not for yourself?"

The thought of stomaching any food made him feel sick. But he knew that was the result of not having any for so long. He knew if he kept this up, that he would eventually kill himself. He lingered on the thought, but nodded.

"Fine."

* * *

His bunker was dimly lit by a singled candle to which a young man sat at a small desk, writing furiously. Though the walls to the old ship were soundproof enough to block out the gunfire, it didn't prevent one from feeling the vibration of the bombs or the zippo tanks that had exploded on field from enemy fire. 

Alphonse Elric roughly raked his fingers roughly through his wheat-golden hair, wincing slightly as his hand brushed over the wound on his brow. His pale face was painfully drawn and the hand that held his pen shook.

"_Dearest Winry," _He read aloud, but low enough as to not wake his sleeping comrades.

"_How has life back home been? Met anyone yet? How's Den? Granny? Life here has never been rougher. I feel so alone even though there is never such a chance. I fear for Brother—"_

Al paused before deciding to scratch off the last line. He didn't want to worry his dear friend. No, he would keep this burden to himself until he was completely sure.

Colonel Mustang had told him Ed had been caught in an explosion. In all his bluntness, the Colonel has flat out told him Ed was dead. Al, who considered himself even-tempered by nature, had never been in such a broken rage. Then realization came with the dawning hour. Something inside told him Ed was still breathing. Call it a brother's intuition or call it blind hope…but it was still something.

After all, Brother had promised.

"You promised, Brother." He said in a hoarse whisper; fear threatening to break him once more. "You promised we would go _together._"

* * *

_:) See? Al's still alive. I love him too much to have him die. Besides, I have great plans for our loveable blondie._

_As to the Winry's crack about not wanting to get married: Back in WWII it was considered inappropriate that a woman (a non-married one) live alone just as it was considered inappropriate for a woman to do a man's work. It was even worse when a man and a woman were living in the same household, unmarried, and without a chaperone. Though it was later in WWII that because all the men were gone for so long, the women didn't have a suitable income and had to take up the jobs their husbands had left at the factories when they left for war. Thus started the age of working women in America._

_Please leave a review!_


	3. Part 3: Nightmares

**Author's Note:** _Consider this quick update for those who take the time to review. School is about to start so I don't think I'll have too much time to write. But I will update as soon as I can. Also, be aware of violence in this chapter. So if that kind of stuff affends you, then just skip over the bold. So read, review, and enjoy._

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_Part 3: Nightmares _

Ed had kept silent all through dinner, all the while gradually picking through his food. Winry was just content that he ate a little, at least. Once finished, she began to routine clean up and Ed excused himself without a word to retire to his bedroom. Winry watched until the door closed quietly behind him. The nurse's warning came to her, unbidden.

"_Watch him at all times. I cannot stress that to you enough. A man in his condition is not stable. I don't care_ who_ they were before…"_

The mere idea of Ed taking the 'easy' way out was simply ludicrous to the female mechanic. Ed had always been the one to find a loophole in his restrictions, and with the ever optimistic Al by his side, nothing could deteriorate him.

But Al was not here, and so the job (the hardest one they had ever come upon) fell into her calloused hands. She would not quit Ed. And Winry would make sure he didn't quit on her.

Drying her hands on the dishtowel, Winry flipped her hair to tie it in a painful knot before heading toward his bedroom.

"Edward?" she knocked while opening the door slowly. "Edward!"

Her errant childhood friend was attempting to stand; his hand was clenching the arm of his wheelchair so tight that Winry feared he would crush its wooden handle. His left leg trembled violent underneath his weight. There was no way he could make it to the bed like that.

It was a sincere reaction to dash forward and grab his arm to steady him. But no sooner did she do it when she realized her mistake.

"_Don't_," he snapped; his voice sounded guttural from the exertion.

For an instant Winry pulled back, shocked at the vehemence in his voice but snapped out of her daze in time to catch him as he teetered backwards.

"Don't be stupid, Ed." She pulled him back toward the bed, once again thankful for her strength. "Your body has suffered enough. Give it a chance to heal."

The soldier refused to meet her gaze but she knew he was angry. His brows were creased and his face was drawn while his eyes simmered with the anger he held in.

"Edward,"

"Just leave me!"

For the second time that night, Edward's anger held such force that it stunned her, and she stumbled back as if struck. With tears just behind her eyes, Winry fled from the room and from the man who could feel no remorse.

* * *

'_The first night and I'm already being selfish'_

Winry berated herself over and over, unable to hold back the sobs that racked her body. She had retreated to the porch as her safe haven, and where she was certain her sniffling couldn't be heard through the thin walls because of the overpowering downpour. The rain was not only her barrier tonight, but also her soother. Listening to its powerful rhythm, Winry found the tension of her heart beginning to release.

In all their years together, Ed had never spoken to her in such a way. Never. Hence the reason she reacted like a little girl.

But his attitude this evening brought her once more to the grave seriousness of the situation. She had to face the fact that Edward wasn't the same man that left her five years ago, and he probably would never be. To wish for it would be foolish and heartbreaking.

This was just one night of the many to come and she was already feeling like an old woman.

Winry sat heavily in her grandmother's old rocker, raking her fingers through her tangled blonde mane. Her pain and discomfort was nothing compared to his. If only she could have a sign that some good would come out of this, that something she did might actually help Ed through his troubles…anything.

A sudden spark relit the fire in her soul. She needed a goal so she too wouldn't drown in the sea of Ed's hopelessness. She needed something to work toward, and to see, if only an ounce of his happiness rekindled, would make it all worth while.

A drawn out whine pulled her from her thoughts.

"Den?"

There was another whine and a quiet thump from underneath the porch.

"Den?" she called again, waiting for the familiar black and white head to stick out from the stairs. A half-grown dog came hobbling out and made its way onto the porch to kneel at Winry's feet.

Winry stared at Den's missing leg while giving an affectionate rub to her ears.

"You turned out alright, didn't you, Den?"

The dog that could only be considered beautiful in her eyes, cocked its head to the side and looked at her with dark irises as if to say, _'Silly girl, of course I did.'_

Winry smiled to herself; spirits lifting.

"Then I guess Ed will, too."

* * *

_**Night had fallen over the small island like a heavy, suffocating blanket of fear. Ed lay on his belly and fisted his hand in the damp soil that left a crimson stain on his palm and caked underneath his fingernails. His heart pounded with every gunshot—with every bomb and was threatening to burst through his chest.**_

_**Shots sounded overhead and it was years of practice that kept him from jumping in panicked surprise. With his next breath, someone yelled.**_

"_**Go!"**_

_**He leapt to his feet, rifle in hand, and ran blindly to the next bunker.**_

"_**Brother!"**_

_**The sound of Al's voice somewhere behind him made his blood run cold with fear and foolishly he stopped and turned; still standing in the line of fire. **_

_**Al was pursuing after him; medical bag dangling wildly behind him with his speed.**_

_**He wanted to call out to his brother, to tell him to turn back and keep out of sight, but his voice caught in his throat when an enemy bullet caught Al in the thigh.**_

"_**AL!"**_

_**Ed's worst fears were becoming reality right before his eyes. Another bullet caught Al in the shoulder, the gut, and the final blow was to his head that held enough force to send him flying backwards; motionless. Al's blood flowed like a river into the sea of blood that had accumulated on Iwo Jima soil.**_

_**A roar of anguish sounded from his throat and he was at Al's side before it could end. Bitter, angry tears streamed down his face as he clutched his baby brother's limp body to his chest. Someone would pay…**_

_**Footsteps that were too light to belong to an American soldier, sounded from behind, and in his blind rage Ed grabbed his firearm and fired mercilessly in the intruder's direction.**_

_**He stopped only when the anger inside him depleted with exhaustion. It was a few moments before the smoke cleared, but when it did, he was horrified by what he saw.**_

"_**Winry?" he whispered hoarsely. **_

_**No less than a half-a-dozen bullet holes littered her body and Ed could not take his eyes away from the blood that seeped into her thin nightgown until it became heavy with it.**_

"_**This isn't right," his voice was strained by the shock. "You're not supposed to be here."**_

_**The brow of childhood friend was slick with sweat and her hair suck to it messily. Beautiful blue eyes no longer held their undying kindness, for they became glassy with death. She slowly fell to her knees, then to the ground with a soft thump; her blood intermingling with Al's. **_

_**Panic and shame filled him until he was numb with it.**_

_**But feeling, a fiery and most tortuous feeling came wriggling up his arm and leg until it became unbearable. He screamed in agony.**_

_**He was burning.**_

"Edward!"

_**It was Winry's voice. But she was dead. He killed her.**_

"Edward!"

The young soldier came to with a start; trembling violently.

"It's alright," he heard her say. "I'm right here and Al is still alive. It'll be ok."

Like a child, he looked up into Winry with beseeching eyes. He blinked, and then looked around, only then realizing he had fallen to the floor and was being cradled in Winry's arms. Shame filled him at the sudden realization that it had all been a dream. All of it had been some kind of hellish _nightmare._

Still, his body refused to quit trembling and before he knew it, he found himself being half lifted, half dragged into bed. Though Winry was strong and gave no outward sign that his weight had affected her, her breathing quickened in effort as she struggled to get him comfortable.

He could hear her toes cracking as she walked away but was too numb to feel disappointed. A moment later she returned with a wet towel and began to dab his chest and brow of sweat. The marine jerked slightly when he felt the side of the bed sink, but relaxed when her hands came around his shoulders.

"_Sweet and low, sweet and low"_

It was a tune that he recognized the moment she began to sing it.

"_Wind of the Western Sea"_

Their mothers' had sung it to them, figuring it was the only thing that could lull then to sleep.

"_Low, low, breath and blow, Wind of the Western Sea"_

Gently, Winry tugged him to where his ear lay right above her heart. Its steady beating was a comfort to him; a quiet reassurance that she was living. But listening to her voice, he was reminded that Winry had never been a singer. And yet, he found himself listening anxiously to the rasping of her voice.

"_Over the rolling waters go,_

_Come from the dying moon, and blow,_

_Blow him again to me, _

_While my little one,_

_While my pretty one sleeps,"_

Exhaustion began to overwhelm him and he slowly began to drift with the caressing of his brow.

"_Sleep and rest, sleep and rest"_

And so for the first time in many years, Edward Elric dreamed only of the soothing lapping of ocean water, and of the person that awaited him over on its sandy shore.

"_Sleep and rest…"_


	4. Part 4: Qualms of a Broken Man

**Author's Note:** I'm back with a new chapter, finally. This one is probably one of the shortest chapters I've ever written. But it's still a chapter, right? I do have a bit of good news, though. I have recently started an EdxWinry oneshot which should be up within the next couple of weeks.

* * *

_Part 4: Qualms of a Broken Man_

Edward's nightmares continued on for several weeks until the lingering weeks drew out into long, suffering months. Each night his scream of anguish would pull Winry from a dead sleep with a heart-faltering start. Thus began the late night ritual where Winry would offer herself as comfort until the ex-soldier fell back into his unfitful slumber.

The morning following that first night had been awkward. She hadn't been too keen to approach the subject and Edward acted as if nothing had happened, and as if there were no raging horrors that plagued his mind the moment his lids sagged in exhaustion.

But it was an inevitable topic that was bound to come up some time or another. Winry could be a very patient woman, when needed.

On an even more serious note, Ed was in no better shape than the living dead. It was the same every day: eat, drink, and sleep. She did her best to talk to him but more oft than not, the futile conversation was one-sided. Slowly but surely her hope was dwindling. But it was his sudden episodes of brash and unbridled anger and bitterness that worried her. Never had she seen a man so angry at the world, at life. She just didn't know what else to do.

She stopped; an idea shimmering into her thoughts. Why hadn't she considered it before?

She glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. Ed wouldn't be waking up for a while longer, at least. Deciding to leave Den, Winry grabbed her truck keys and strode purposely toward the door.

It was time to visit an old friend.

* * *

It was the morning after yet another storm. And it was in these moments that he felt strangely calm. Not serene—no, he was far from being serene. He was just empty. He felt no emotion. There was just the depleted shell of the man that once was. The anger and the bitterness never came until later in the day, and only when he was forced to acknowledge his impairments. Which was quite frequently.

Ed's thoughts drifted. Last night he had yet another brutal vision of Al's demise. His death raged from gunshot wounds to stab wounds, severe burns and complete incapacitation. Each and every night his imagination would come up with so many gruesome ways to torture him with Al's death; his worst fears were becoming a live movie. Each night he dreaded them.

Being a medic Al was worth as many as ten Marines; a prime target against the Japanese. This served only to intensify Ed's fears.

Then there was Winry.

Ed had yet to decipher why Winry was in his dreams of Iwo Jima—had yet to figure why _he_ was the one to kill her. Last night had been the strangest by far. She had appeared before him as her six-year-old self, staring at him with her piercing, frightened blue eyes.

Her fear struck him greater that any physical blow ever could. He didn't want her to be afraid of him.

And yet in his dream he stood before her child-self in blood and dirt. He imagined his eyes to be wild and untamed just as his heart pounded furiously inside his chest and still trembling from fighting. He even pictured himself as a demon of hell.

But it was Winry who held the admiration of his heart, was the salve of his wounds, the love of his life.

But the ex-soldier felt a heavy loathing deep inside his chest not only for her, but for people, but greatest of all for himself. The shadow of self pity was a massive overcast to all other emotions he might have felt before. But love—he wondered if he was even capable of that, anymore.

He cursed himself for starting early the waves of regrets. The day he had left for the Marines had been the day he had come closest to telling Winry how deep his feelings really ran for her and that, if she was willing, to become his wife.

But he had waited, thinking it wrong to make her a widower before they ever had a chance to marry. The price had never been greater.

He had survived, but not all of him. How could she want just half a man for a husband? Not just physically, but mentally, he wasn't altogether there.

He was a broken, shattered man.

Who could _possibly_ want that?

* * *

"Give him time, Winry, dear. The war has been traumatizing for America's defenders. 'Where the shores run red with blood' is what the papers have been saying lately."

Gravely, Winry listened to Gracia while bouncing her three-year-old daughter, Elysia, on her knee. During her years of loneliness, it had been this woman who had been the kind and loving neighbor that kept her spirits high with hope. She honestly didn't know what she would have done without this woman.

"I remember when Hugh came home after his first encounter with war," she said with a somber smile. "He was quiet—withdrawn, even. You know how Hugh was, Winry, and you can imagine how unusual it was. He was happy to be home, but once man and war meet, war will never leave the man. It always leaves a mark."

Truth reverberated in her every word. War had left a gruesome mark on Edward. His body was mangled from its effects and his mind was emotionally twisted.

"And the nightmares?" Winry asked.

Gracia's face fell a little. "They'll never go away."

Winry assumed as much. After all, Edward was not as invincible as he once thought he was.

They fell into a compatible silence and Winry watched as Gracia would gently catch the stem of the rose between her pointer and middle finger, clipping it and passing off the fully bloomed roses to Elysia, who had wriggled her way off Winry's lap, and was gently collecting the cut roses like a bouquet.

"How did you help Hugh through it? The pain, I mean."

Gracia turned thoughtful as a brief smile found her delicate features. "I gave him something to do. Sometimes household chores and sometimes outside twiddles, like that swing. He built that for Elysia. Doing something kept him from thinking about the war so frequently. And when he would fall into one of his depressions, I reminded him of the joys of our family and of out life together. It was his tether to sanity. It's probably the same for your Ed."

"But the relationship between Ed and I isn't like yours and Hugh's. We're not married, we're just childhood friends."

Winry was taken aback at Gracia's weak smile and the words that followed it.

"Just because you're not married it doesn't mean your love is no less strong. You are his friend. Love him. Remind him that he isn't alone."

* * *

When Winry walked in the door she was greeted by a sight that frightened her more than anything she had yet to encounter with Edward. He was awake but in a pair of cotton pajama shorts and not shirt. His face was an emotionless mask as he stared out the window that gave view to the walkway.

"Edward?" she spoke, unsure of what to expect. His amber eyes had a hard edge to them, one that had not been so evidently present during his stay. For a long moment he did nothing but stare out the window and Winry feared to move. When he finally turned his head, there was hopelessness in his eyes—a barrier of sorts, disconnecting him from her gentle touch to his brow—disconnecting him from her.

"Edward." She said again, but with more conviction. When her hand moved to the side of his face he shied away, as if her touch caused him great pain. And, still without so much as a word, he turned his head away from her to stare vacantly back out the curtain shrouded window.

Hurt, Winry could only watch as the gap between them increased for a reason she didn't yet understand.

Gracia had told her to love him—to remind him that he was not alone. But how could she when his only reaction was to pull away?

* * *

Al pressed the cloth firmly to the dying soldier's abdomen, keeping his head low from unsuspecting fire. The man gasped from the pain, blood slipping past his lips and down his neck. There was no hope for the wounded man, and both of them knew it. His comrade gave him a brief nod followed by a rasped, "do it". Gravely, Al took his knife swiftly to dying man's throat, silently praying for his peace in Heaven; envying his fate.

The medic ran quietly to the next bunker, but not before a fiery pain erupted in his shoulder and leg. Falling to the ground with a gasp, Al's world was forced into a perpetual darkness until he knew no more.

* * *

_Please Review!_


	5. Part 5: Breakthrough

**Author's Note:** I'm back just in time for Thanksgiving. And I must say, this is a very eventful chapter and a lot of important details have been added. Also there is a lot of time flow, and if I explained every single detail I think the chapter would have been wasted. So I apologize in advance if certain areas seemed rushed. I didn't see any other way I could do it. And forgive me for any grammar mistakes... I was lazy. 

Thank you to all who took the time to review! Long reviews make me very happy and are the spark to my motivation.

Also, that oneshot is taking longer that I originally thought, but it's almost finished.

_Hearts of the innocent_

* * *

_Part Five: Breakthrough_

The memories—the visions that followed him consisted of angry voices, acrid smells, and great spasms of pain that sent him reeling back into the grim world of shadows. It all seemed like one vibrant, intricate dream.

Or rather a hellish nightmare.

When Alphonse gained consciousness, he fought back the wave of panic that threatened to burst the racing heart inside his chest. Where was he? There was no way this could be Heaven. No _possible_ way. The pain was far too great to be beyond the Pearly Gates.

Gingerly, he opened his eyes only to shut them quickly again. He had seen darkness—nothing else. Had he gone blind? Had he been captured? The fear and the panic welled inside him anew. He attempted to sit up.

In this futile attempt, a hiss of pain escaped his lips and Al fell back once more. He must have been heard for a pair of quiet footsteps pattered to his side. It was a woman, judging by the quiet _shh _she whispered in her attempt to calm him. The delicate hand to his face succeeded in easing the tenseness of is shoulders only because it reminded him pleasantly of his mother.

There was a movement toward his arm and his veins grew chilled.

Al was pushed into darkness before he could process another coherent thought.

* * *

Winry was both unnerved and frightened by the intensity of his gaze boring into he person. Saving her from the potential awkwardness, she kept her focus solely on digging up the pestering weeds that had accumulated in her gardens. 

This strange arrangement had become one of habit during the last week. Having already been a routine in Winry's day, she invited her friend to join her. Giving her no final answer, Edward had started waking up before her and together they would watch the morning sun make its timely rise. After, he would stay on the porch of the old cracker house as a silent, stoic figure of marble that showed no emotion and stared blandly out at nothing, off in his own little world…

Then there were times like these where Winry was acutely aware of his burning gaze following her every movement. Sighing, she forced herself to relax.

* * *

Through a hooded gaze he watched as the tension in Winry's shoulders relaxed. Not minutes before they had been strung tighter than a bow. Now she seemed at ease—her attention directly and purposely on her plants. What had caused the quick change? He didn't know, but with the blonde completely distracted, Ed allowed himself to focus on detail: the way the sunlight played upon her hair, and the way she wiped her brow with the back of her glove. _Anything_ to keep the demons of war at bay. For even as the quiet whispering of wind and the chattering of birds or Winry's toneless humming enveloped him, the not so distant sound of gunfire and the strangled cries of dying men always seemed to lay beneath the surface of his sanity. 

With the sudden surge of emotion, Ed was forced to close his eyes.

But the boisterous honking of an old Camino brought them back open, and he was greeted by the sight of a burley old-man stranger. Winry turned, seemingly startled by a visitor. Then, tugging off her gloves, she stuffed them in the pocket of her working apron and walked out past the picket fence and to the waiting car.

Thought it was too far for Ed to hear their conversation, he watched Winry's gestures closely. The eyes of the old man flickered in his direction; a peculiar look on his face.

Anger replacing his earlier depression, the former Marine wheeled himself back into the house with as much dignity as could be mustered, not looking back.

* * *

"Is that him?" 

Both annoyed and perturbed, Winry crossed her arms and shifted from foot to foot, blocking his view of Ed.

"Yes, Jimmy, that's Edward. Now is there a reason you'd travel this far down in Cummings just to gather gossip like an old woman?"

The older man huffed, defensive at being caught in the act of spying. "I don't gossip," he gruffed out. "I was just curious, is all."

Winry sighed.

"You've a few letters," he said, thrusting the bundled packet into her hands. "Though, I don't know who would be writin' to a cantankerous soul like you. Just like the old heifer…"

"Granny would haunt your sleep if she head you say that!" Winry yelled fruitlessly to the quickly departing vehicle.

Jimmy forgotten, Winry quickly flipped through the three letters in search for a particular one. When that letter wasn't present, unease coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach. Months had passed and still she heard no word from Al. The last letter she had received had been the day before she traveled to get Ed, and still, six months later, she heard nothing. But the unease in her stomach churned to nausea upon closer inspection of the other two letters.

The first was the same letter she had sent her childhood friend not two months before—it had never been opened. The second being from the Bank, and Winry had a sinking feeling that she already knew what it was.

Life was about to become more grim, if that was even possible.

And Winry knew it very well was.

* * *

Night had long since fallen and yet Edward still could not be drowned in his exhausting slumber. He found when he traveled the border of awareness and sleep, his nightmares grew more prominent—more genuine. For sometimes when he awoke he feared he still slept on the shores of Iwo Jima. It was becoming harder and harder to discern his dreams from reality, for memories of the past always seemed to wriggle their way into the present. 

So Edward found himself staring blandly at the ceiling; no longer opting to gaze at the mocking photos that still littered his walls. Light flooded underneath his doorway and he wondered what would keep Winry up at this early hour.

A silhouette in the shadows, Winry failed to take notice of him for her face remained buried in her hands and her posture defeated.

"Winry?" Her name escaped his mouth before he could think better of it. Startled, she gave a violent jerk, relaxing only when she realized it was he who disturbed her quiet.

"I'm sorry," she said with a weary chuckle. "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head. "Couldn't sleep. What are you doing?"

A strange look crossed her face. He assumed she was probably surprised at his sudden sociality.

"Bills, taxes…all that fun stuff." She gave a tire smile. Not completely oblivious as she thought him to be, Ed easily saw through her brave façade.

"What is it _really_?"

With that single question, her mask of serenity began to crumble, giving way to the strain in her features and the worry in her eyes.

"My job as a part-time mechanic is no longer enough. I have to get another." There must have been something in his expression for she was quick to reassure him. "It has nothing to do with you, Ed. This day has been coming for me ever since Granny died. Faithful customers have kept us thriving, but times are changing and I fear it's only going to get harder from here." She smiled at him. "But don't worry; I can just get a job down at the Diner. We'll be just fine."

Her lie was easily read upon her face.

* * *

Winry's job at Sammy's Diner started within the week, and unfortunately the only available hours were from seven at night to twelve in the morning, and she would be the one to lock up. It suited her just fine, though the only thing that worried her was Ed's relapses. Though it had gotten to the point where he no longer woke in a flurry and no longer cried out in fear. Still…Winry was hesitant to leave. 

"I'll be fine." He had told her, and the look upon his face had silenced any further protests.

She settled in quickly, having been well accustomed to cooking and cleaning all her life. The only thing she had a hard time adjusting to, or rather ignoring, was the coy glances that men (both young and old) seemed to give her. Winry was not the drop-dead beauty so many women attempted to pertain to, but she prided herself in being average, much to the chagrin of many.

But nonetheless the men continued to stare her down as if she beckoned to their service in _all _matters simply because of where she worked. It reminded her why she hated town so much.

To make matters worse, this horrible job taken from necessity was tearing away precious hours with Ed. The nurse had said not to leave him alone, even at night. And while Winry was sleeping off the nightly hours, Ed was undoubtedly alone. Except for Den, of course, but he didn't seem to give much attention to her animal friend.

But neither Winry or Ed knew, nor were they expecting that their fragile bond that had only just begun to strengthen, was about to be taxed, strung, and pulled taunt by the hands of tragedy, sparking the breakthrough to something so much bigger.

* * *

Exhausted and worn, Winry gave a sigh of utter relief when the hour hand finally struck twelve and the annoying bells of that horrid, out-of-tune clock began to chime in answer. There being no customers, Winry had no cause to shoo off any lingering persons. Quickly, she made sure everything was shut down and locked the door before stepping outside. 

She paused, unnerved by the sudden chill crawling over her body; the air outside being warm.

_Run,_ the small voice in the back of her mind demanded. But thinking herself silly, Winry forced herself to calm the sudden racing of her heart, but was still unable to slow her quickened pace. That's when she heard it; the nearby giggling of drunken laughter and the sick goading of his fellows. One stepped from the shadows and followed closely behind her.

"Heeey, lady," the man slurred. "What's somethin' as purty as you doing in town after dark, eh?"

Too frightened to answer, Winry hugged her arms across her chest, keeping her brisk pace from turning into a frightened run. Another man joined the one following her.

"She must be wantn' somethin', Joe, a ride maybe?"

They howled at their 'cleverness' and easily matched their stride to hers until there was a foul-smelling pig flanking her on each side. The one on her left— Joe, the other guy had called him, reached out to run his fingers through the few strands of her golden hair that had loosened from her bun. Reflexively, she slapped his hand away.

"Ooh!" He cried in his sodden glee, "Kitty has claws! And, wait… this is the kitty that lives in that private property estate—the one in the middle of nowhere. Ya know, Tom, I've _always _wanted to go there."

Winry gave into her instincts and made a mad dash toward the nearest building, but not before one the men fisted a hand in her hair and yanked her back once again. With terrifying force, her head hit the concrete with a resounding _crack _and her vision went black. Winry screamed.

* * *

Ever since Winry had started her nightly job down at the Diner, Ed could barely get two hours worth of sleep. The house was just too empty—too devoid of the light that is Winry. 

And so Ed wheeled himself aimlessly around the house, stopping in each bedroom to bask in all the childhood memories that they each held. Most of them had changed, but some were frighteningly left untouched. Those were the rooms that troubled him the most.

Eventually he came to Granny's old room—Winry's new one. This room he did not enter, instead choosing to linger by the doorway, taking in her neatly folded bedspread and her sparse furnishings. His thoughts darkened. Making as if to leave, Ed stopped when he caught sight of an old _Winchester_ set carefully in the corer closest to the bed. His eyes narrowed as he wheeled himself past the doorway and closer to the weapon. Winry had always been a nonviolent person, so where in the world had she picked up a gun? Where had she even learned how to use it?

Despite his unease in picking up a weapon again, Ed took hold of the gun that felt strangely heavy in his hands. Carefully, he set the butt of the rifle in between his thighs to keep it vertical and ran his hand all along the barrel, the iron sights, and its fine oak forearms. Fingers brushing across the trigger, he followed the gun back to the forearm where in one, fluid motion he quickly cocked it open. It was loaded.

The quiet stillness that had enveloped him was broken by the loud honking of a car. Senses telling him that not all was quite right, he laid the rifle over his shoulder and wheeled himself toward the front door. He froze when he heard Winry's scream.

* * *

The man had knocked her upside the mouth twice by the time they reached the house in his futile attempt to keep her quiet and submissive. Despite the great pain it caused her, Winry was _not_ about to go along with their sick game so easily. Fight like a hellcat, Granny had told her once, and that's exactly what she was planning. 

She could feel the side of her face begin to tighten for swelling at this point, she knew, was inevitable. Even the back of her head felt swollen and something warm was sliding down her neck. She felt like she'd been through the mill a time or two.

The house was getting closer and her fears were growing with each landmark they passed. The sudden thought that Ed would be at the house waiting, made her heart stop in terror. She didn't want him to be a witness to the sic antics of drunken jerks—the mere thought of it nearly made her vomit.

"So this is the infamous land that has belonged to the Rockbell family fer four generations." The man gave another chuckle. "It ain't _that_ impressive. Cmon', Tom, let's see what the inside looks like."

Winry took the chance to give another ear-piercing scream and the man shook her roughly by the shoulders, switching from his intoxicated cheerfulness to a haze of ferocity. The haze was broken by the sound of gunfire.

"Let her go."

The two men tensed and Winry gazed in shock at Ed sitting rigidly on the front porch; gun in his hand.

Scant five seconds later the men, noticing Ed's obvious impairment, laughed at their moment of panic, clearly thinking that there was no way on earth that a man with no arm and leg, could stop them.

"I said, _let her go_." Ed's voice came out as a feral snarl; amber eyes flashing dangerously.

"Who are you?" growled the man who was holding Winry. The boyfriend? Husband? It don't matter, the girl here was just givin' us a tour."

It all happened within an instant for Winry would not have believed it if she had not followed it with her own eyes. The gun in Edward's hand was like an extension of his arm and, without focusing his eye down the barrel, shot blindly at the man holding her. Or at least, she thought it was a blind shot but chose to believe otherwise when the bullet hit her captor in the thigh, inches from her own. The man screamed in pain, throwing her to the ground.

"That was for trespassing." She heard Edward say.

He fired another shot to the other man who had whipped out his own pistol and had fisted his hand in Winry's hair to hold the barrel under her chin. This bullet was not so merciful as the last for no sooner did the rank man release her from his death hold to escape, did the bullet catch the retreating man in the shoulder where a sickening _crack_ resounded in the air. Instantly, he fell to the ground, withering.

"And that's for hurting her."

Switching between a shoulder-racking cough and a violent heaving, Winry stumbled on the Cracker House steps and to the feet of the former Marine.

_Man may leave the War but War will never leave the man_ was her last coherent thought as she felt Ed's hand grab her upper arm awkwardly and before everything went black.

* * *

_If the gun description sounded like I knew what I was talking about then good. I already had some knowledge in the area but my father helped me further it. I actually had to take out an old model of the same gun and reenact Ed's movements to better the story. It was quite fun. _

_Winchester Pump: 12 Gauge Shot Gun 1917_

_Cracker House: A type of house built primarily in the South; popular for this era._

_Happy Thanksgiving, guys! And please, please review!_

**Come check out my new story Meet You in Paradise!**


	6. Part 6: Baby Steps of the Heart

A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews and the critique!

* * *

_Chapter Six: Baby Steps of the Heart_

Winry awoke with a terrible soreness in her neck and abdomen, and her head was pounding with an awful fierceness that churned the walls of her stomach. She moaned, burying her face deeper into the disarray of quilts thrown on her bed.

When she was but a moment away from slinking back into exhaustion, her eyes flew back open in horror as prior night's events came back to her in a fury.

_Intoxicated men, shrouding fear, pain, gunfire, Edward…_

The raw furry in his eyes and the utter power in his position as he held the gun erect made her shudder in terror. It hadn't mattered that this was a man who had lost his arm and leg in the battle of Iwo Jima; hadn't mattered that this was a man deemed useless by all who looked upon his disabled form. Five years ago they stole Ed from her and drafted him into the war where they transformed him into a weapon of the military. They had made them into a man who could react in a moments notice; a man who could defend himself while handicapped and wounded. Winry was again reminded that this was no longer the old Ed but a man touched by war.

But despite of it all Ed had proven one thing; he was not so useless has he believed himself to be.

She heard his voice through the thin walls then, louder than she had ever heard it during his eight month stay. A grimace would contort upon her façade when expressions like "you bastard" and a few other choice words that she dared not rethink, spilled from his mouth. She also heard something about "four years of (his choice word) service" and "enough for-" then his voice went quiet; ominously so. None of it made sense to her battered conscious.

Many minutes later her bedroom floorboards creaked with the weight of Ed's wheelchair as he lingered in her doorway. Thinking he would leave, Winry shifted when she didn't hear squeaking floorboards of his exiting presence and met head on with his clear amber gaze. He had been watching _her_ sleep. And behind his eyes lied something different—something that had changed and was no longer covered by the veil of self-pity and pain.

She was rudely shoved from her sentimental haze with the first words from his mouth:

"You look horrible."

Had she not known better she would have thought he sounded like his old self.

Giving him a sour look she rolled onto her back and gave a weary sigh. "I feel horrible. In fact, I feel like I've been beat up."

He didn't appear to appreciate her humor for he gave her that 'not funny' stare.

"What happened last night?" he asked; there was no room for argument in the statement.

Knowing that was the true reason why he came to her room, Winry mentally scolded herself for the dread she felt inside. So not wanting Ed to overreact like he usually did, she made her story as bland as possible.

"I was locking up at the Diner and on my way to the truck when the drunken jerks were on the prowl. They had never seen the place and were curious about it so they forced me back here…"

She trailed off into a silence and Winry had yet to notice how taunt Ed's shoulders had become or how the outline of his jaw became hard.

"Oh, soul…" Winry gasped out, jerking herself upright as it dawned on her. "You shot them! We have to call the police, Edward, we—"

"I already did," he interrupted her dryly. "No charges have been pressed on my account. Apparently the police had been looking for those thugs for quite a while. This wasn't their fist disturbance. You just came out better than their other victims."

Her complexion paled and her hands flew to the back of her head and her face.

"I doctored your wounds as best I could." He answered her silent question then lifted his one hand for her to see. "I can only do so much."

She smiled at him and something inside him clenched in response. "Thank you, Ed. I don't know where I would be without you here." She looked around the room; her expression grew quizzical. "How did you get me in bed?"

He looked away. "I improvised." His voice had become rough once more and he wheeled himself out of her room.

* * *

Later that morning, Winry's friend and distant neighbor, Gracia, drove over to check on Winry's cuts and bruises seeing as there was no hospital near enough or affordable, for that matter. 

The former Marine could see why his childhood friend and the older woman were such great friends for they were alike in many ways. Both had compassionate hearts and tender smiles. But behind Gracia's eyes light blue eyes there was an oldness that hinted to a hard life lead. He had seen eyes like hers many times while in the Service.

Returning from Winry's bedroom, Gracia gently pulled the sleeves to her blouse back over her wrists and smiled down at him while taking a seat on the couch across from his wheelchair.

"Edward," she said warmly, as if she had known him for all his life. "How are you holding up?"

It was because of her sincerity that he bit back a sarcastic retort and in his feeling of awkwardness he turned back to the window.

"I'm fine, thank you. How's Winry?"

"She's been battered, that's for sure, but she's handling it okay. It's all thanks to you."

He didn't look at her, expecting scrutiny. "Perhaps," he allowed.

In the prolonged silence of the room he heard her sigh lightly. "Edward, look at me." She ordered softly and he had no will to refuse her gentle ways. As she looked readily at him, Ed became aware of the intensity behind her calm features—a secret that told him that somehow she understood more than she let on.

"We are living in hard times, Soldier. With our men on the field and away from our home and away from our arms, the women of our small community have had to step up. And it's been hard." She inclined her head toward the bathroom. "But never doubt that that young girl has never been happier to have you back; whole or broken. The day Winry received the letter that you were alive she came to me with tears of joy.

"You think that the only reason she had to apply at the Diner was because she was now supporting you when the reality of it is we are all in the same position."

Edward's voice was stiff as he replied.

"There is more to it than that."

Her sad smile was unreadable in his eyes. "I know," she said sadly. "You bear the weight of those you killed in battle. You see the faces of your wounded brothers as they died in your arms. You see the bloodied rivers and the bodies that float in them. Day by day you relive it all…"

Ed could only stare, fathomless at the depth of her knowledge. How could she know… she hadn't been there. She couldn't _possibly_ understand the fear, the feelings that came with war; with hate; with pain.

"Mama?"

Both their heads turned to the little girl standing apathetically in the threshold of the room, rubbing the sleep from her drooping eyes.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Demeanor changing abruptly, Gracia patted her lap invitingly and the child started over to climb onto her mothers knees. It had been the first time Ed had seen the little girl but Winry's awing description had done the toddler justice. Sleepy, but bright blue eyes blinked at him rapidly, falling to the flatness of his sleeve and his pant leg.

"Booboo like daddy's?"

* * *

Winry emerged from the shower feeling refreshed but moving as slowly as an old woman. Gracia, thankfully, was there to help her dress as much as she detested the help on such a simple act. Shortly after checking upon her battle scars once more, Gracia gave her a quiet apology in her need to leave. 

"Go on," Winry had said, "you have much more important things to be doing rather than babying me."

Together they had laughed but shortly after, her friend was quick to reassure her that helping her was no problem. Gracia had also told her just before slipping out through the back door to take it easy with Ed, giving her no further explanation.

She understood when she saw him.

"Ed?"

He looked at her with haunted eyes; lines deepening in his face and making him to look so much older than the twenty-three year old man he was. She approached him slowly till she was close enough to kneel before him. He followed her every movement.

"Hughes?" he rasped.

The mechanic froze; eyes becoming glazed.

"Was just like you." She told him simply.

His next movements startled her more than anything he had ever done. Ever since his homecoming, even before when they were children, Ed had never been the one to initiate contact. He had always blushed scarlet when she'd tried to hug him, and in more recent days showed no affection whatsoever. So when his large, calloused hand came close to cup her cheek, it was all she could do not to shy away; the look in his beautiful amber gaze holding her still.

"_Winry,"_ His voice was tight with an emotion that she didn't understand. His thumb began to run back and forth along her cheek and she found herself leaning into his touch.

"I don't care what it takes; I will take care of you."

She knew Ed well enough to know that this was no declaration. Winry believed herself wise in the ways of her friend and understood that this was his own way of reassuring her that he would still be there; his own way of counseling himself to move forward. Yes, healing would still take time but now his heart was in the recovery. And that, at least, was a start.

Gently encompassing his hand in her own, Winry smiled up at him.

"I know you will."

* * *

Sorry for the delay, guys. School and finals and bunch of other things have been taking over my life lately, but hopefully I'm back. If the last section seemed a little confusing, don't worry, I will elaborate on it in the next chapter. 

So if you like this story it would mean to the world to me if I could hear from all of you in a review. Your thoughtful input is what keep the creative juices flowing and keep me writing.

-:Hearts of the Innocent:-


	7. Part 7: Declaration

Sorry for the long delay. Between school, work, and everything else, my writing kind of takes the back seat. In case you haven't figured, (or are about to figure) Gracia and Hues are my favorite supporting characters/couple of FMA. It's probably because there's really no drama between the two, their love straightforward and true.

But they have a big part, or rather, history in this story. So I pray that you will enjoy their side story and the love and the pain that comes with it.

And thanks so much for those who took the time to review. Your thoughts and CC are always appreciated. Anything to better my writing.

* * *

_Chapter Seven; Declaration_

In the cradle of her arms Gracia Hughes held a wild arrangement of flowers, home-grown from her own soil. Maes had always made his love for them known.

The feeling of numbness—of incompleteness washed over her anew as she stared down at the headstone of her beloved. The void had never really disappeared but had been filled by the chores and necessities of everyday life. Revisiting the place of nightmares, she was again reminded of her loss. It didn't hurt quite as bad as it once had.

But the past was not so bad, she would chide herself. Many happy things had happened in her youth, even though sadness had been ever present. She had met Maes and together they had made their beautiful daughter. But she and little Eleysia hadn't faltered in living the life that was given to them.

"Hello, love," Gracia folded her legs beneath her as she settled herself before the grave.

"I've missed you so much. Elysia, too. You wouldn't believe how much she looks like you." Her smile dimmed. "Every day I see you staring back at me through her precious eyes."

_Really? _She could almost hear him say. _I see the eyes of her beautiful mother._

"Maes…"

The stubble on his face tickled her cheek and his arms snaked 'round her middle to pull her slight form to settle between his legs.

_Yes, Sweetheart?_

"I've missed you."

She imagined agony in his gruff voice as he answered.

_And I've missed you._

Together they sat in their dream, alone in their thoughts and in their hearts after so long.

"They are just like we were, Maes."

_Who is, Dear Heart?_

"Winry and her friend Edward."

_Ah, Winry was a lovely girl._

The widower gave a lazy nod, refusing to open her eyes, refusing to let go of the illusion.

"She's fallen in love with a Marine. He fought and was wounded at Iwo Jima."

_Then they have a difficult road ahead of them._

"Mhm," She mumbled as she raised her hand to brush aside a strand of his ebony hair. "They have a chance that we didn't, my love, but I think they need help in the right direction. Ed hasn't realized what a precious gift he's been given."

_Well then, _he said with a somber smile._ What better story than ours to make him realize that?_

* * *

_Twelve Years Past. Pre War._

It had been love at first sight.

Or at least that's what Mustang had told him shortly after their marriage. But he knew differently. It was an instantaneous infatuation when he caught a glimpse of her gentle face and glowing eyes. It became love when he first saw her smile.

Stepping out from the only diner in the small little dust town in Southern Georgia with the rest of the boys in his unit, Maes caught sight of her gentle person at the flower shop across the street where she stood leaning over an arrangement. Her slender fingers artfully placed the delicate buds where their beauty was equally exemplified to their fullest. His gate slowed and Havoc clumsily ran into his shoulder.

"Gees, Hughes, pick up the pace. You didn't eat that much—" The younger soldier broke off when he caught sight of the source that had enraptured his friend.

There was much goading from his brothers in the service, for it wasn't often that that Maes was rendered speechless by the sight of a woman. Before he could think better of it, his feet began in the direction of the tiny flower shop; a jump in his steps. The closer he got the more enraptured he became. The woman had a soft, round face in which her silky hair curled delicately around her brow and ears; her skin not unlike porcelain. She was of medium height—the perfect size.

A little spit of a boy was quicker than Maes for he arrived to the woman scarcely a minute before he. In his hands he held a small bouquet of daisies. Maes assumed he had been in the store while making his selection. The boy said something to which the lovely lady nodded and together they walked back into the little shop. Maes followed closely but silently behind them, catching the door before it could slam and ring the warning bell. He closed it quietly behind him.

"Four cents, please." He voice was even sweeter than he'd imagined it.

The boy stood before the counter laying out his handful of change; a worried expression on his face. He counted it out slowly, painfully, and at his crestfallen look Maes knew the boy had come up short. Without so much as a word, the woman pushed back the changed and bagged his purchase. At her wink the little boy gave a surprised, toothy grin and dashed out the door, yelling his thanks loudly as he ran.

He straightened his back, combed back his charcoal hair with a rough rake of his fingers, and put on his infamous smile as he strode with confidence toward the lovely woman. When he was close enough, Maes cleared his throat softly and said:

"Excuse me, lovely miss—"

The moment those big, beautiful blue eyes turned from her arrangement at hand to give him her full attention he became the bumbling idiot Mustang always accused him of being and lost all coherent train of thought.

"Yes?" she said, giving him a curious glance.

"I-I-"

Damn! She had rendered him to a blubbering Yankee! He quickly felt his cheeks go warm and he wanted to bang his head against the wall. He never blushed. Never!

"Are you okay, Sir?" she had stepped from behind the counter to make certain he wasn't about to pass out.

"Willyougoouttodinnerwithme?"

_Subtle, very subtle, Hughes. _He could almost feel Roy's mocking gaze from afar even though he was certain the bastard wasn't within five feet of the tiny flower shop.

The lovely woman looked stunned. "Excuse me?"

"Would you go to dinner with me?"

"I don't even—"

He held out his hand. "Private Maes Hughes of the U.S. Marine Core. I would very much appreciate it if you would accompany me to dinner."

Her eyes went wide and she shook his hand robotically, at the same time mumbling out her name.

"I'm Gracia."

His eyes twinkled with sudden confidence.

"So will you?"

Gracia, in all her years, couldn't deny that Maes Hughes was the most persistent man she had ever met.

* * *

Nearly a year later, Hugh had fallen completely, utterly in love with Gracia and had purposed to her for her hand in marriage. When she had said yes, there was no doubt that he had been the happiest man alive. He became even more joyous when he was finally able to call her _his._

On their wedding night, Maes had settled himself on the dock with his new wife nestled in his arms; a blank wrapped around them both. Together they had watched the final setting of the sun's rays and the settling of nightly fog as it danced just above the lake. Beneath him, Gracia shivered.

"Cold, my wife?"

She smiled softly at his new endearment.

"Just a little," she laughed softly when he began to rub her arms. "But I want to stay out here just a while longer."

"Okay, but not too much longer. I will not let my bride catch her death so soon."

But there bliss lasted only long enough for their beautiful daughter, Eleysia, to be born. Then everything they had begun to build their lives upon came crumbling down in a broken heap of lost dreams and stolen time.

* * *

For Gracia, judgment day came in the form of a small letter.

Maes was being called out onto the frontline for the first time since they had been married. WWII seemed to have no end…

The weeks prior to his leaving, the couple and their daughter spent every waking and sleeping moment together. Four years of marriage suddenly seemed so short… for him to leave was punishment in itself.

But Gracia knew, on one distinctive level or another, that this day was bound to come and so she prepared herself in advance so she could give her all to her husband who needed it more desperately than she. But she was comforted by the knowledge that Roy would be going with him. Perhaps they could protect one another; she dearly hoped so.

And so when the day came for him to leave, she promised herself she would not weep. She would give her husband a smile to remember her by. And when she gave her merciful gift he gave her a needy kiss that left her breathing ragged and her person visibly shaken and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"I will come back to you." He whispered hoarsely.

Only when he was finally out of sight did Gracia allow herself to weep.

* * *

Time passed in agonizingly slow increments and Gracia, along with the rest of America, listened anxiously to the radios and gave rapt attention to the papers. But still the battles overseas raged and fighter planes flew and men suffered on all sides.

Before she knew it, nearly three years had passed and Elysia's fifth birthday was fast in approaching. Though she grew anxious when it came to war, Gracia considered 'no news, good news'. But last she had heard, Maes had been shipped to Iwo Jima.

But a letter came all too soon and Gracia's strengths were being tested in ways she never dared to imagine before.

Maes was wounded.

* * *

For the first week of Maes' homecoming, Gracia had asked the young girl next door, Winry, to keep watch over Elysia so he could get settled. But the truth of it was she didn't want their daughter to see her father in this… depleted state.

Gone was Maes' charming smile and in its place the stoic mask of a soldier. There always seemed to be a crease in his brow and Gracia knew not how to lift it. But her grief was for the knowledge that her husband would never walk again.

A bullet followed closely by infection and gangrene was the reason for the amputation of his right leg. It was either his leg or his life. And so his life had been saved, but at the cost of future memories.

It had taken him nearly three days to speak to her, but Gracia was a very patient woman. She took care of his needs and made sure to smile at him from the bottom of her heart and as often as possible. Though he often remained silent, she described paintings she had seen, great happenings in Eleysia's life—anything to stint his continuous agony.

But his breakthrough came in the quiet of the late evening hours as Gracia was about to tuck herself into bed.

"I'm broken, Gracia."

She paused, thrown off that he had spoken. "You're not broken, dear," she said gently. "A man who is blessed with two arms and yet does nothing with them, has cheated himself out of the joys of life. And yet when a man faced with adversity has only one, then the joys he can accomplish will be doubled."

A grimace flashed upon his haggard features.

"So poetic… even of the hells of this world."

"Without pain there would be no true joy in this life, my love. You came home to me as you said you would. You have made me the happiest woman alive." She told him fervently and he turned to stare at her; eyes softening.

"Even as I am now?"

"Just as you are." She confirmed wholly, tears glistening down her pale cheeks. Slowly, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

* * *

Nearly a month had passed and Gracia had never felt so helpless in her entire life.

She watched, tears brimming along the edges of her eyes, as their daughter sat along her father's bed, gently brushing away his saturated hair from his brow. The gesture was so tender that it made Gracia's knees go weak. No child should have to go through this. And yet their little girl had been a trouper, showering her invalid father with love, kisses, and affection. Though Gracia wasn't certain how much Elysia understood, she was positive the child sensed something amiss in the past week. Perhaps it was the reason for her lingering presence.

"Love you, Papa." She whispered and Maes gave a weary smile, patting her head.

"I love you too, baby girl." He rasped out.

"Come now, Elysia." Gracia tried her best to keep the quaver from her voice. "Bedtime."

The little girl pressed a kiss to her father's brow, reluctant to leave, but hopped off the bed and out to room. Gracia followed closely behind to shut the door. She turned to her husband, placing her hand to her mouth to hold back a sob.

Gangrene, the original reason for the amputation, had traveled farther in the bloodstream that everyone had thought. At this moment in time, there was no stopping it. No going back.

"Gra-cia?"

"I'm here." She told him, quickly reaching for his hand. It saddened her how pale and fragile he looked. He had always been a strong man.

"I lo…love you, sweetheart."

Strong. She had to be strong. "And I will always love you."

He smiled and she caressed his face lovingly.

"I'm sorry," he said with great effort. "I wasn't always there for you… and our daughter."

She inhaled sharply. "Don't think like that. Elysia and I have never felt the lack of your love for us. We both understood that you were there for us every chance you had. We have no regrets and neither should you."

"Stay with me?" He whispered.

Her heart beating dully, Gracia stretched out on the bed beside her husband, holding him as close as possible. She felt his hand run weakly through her hair. "Of course." She told him. "Always and forever…"

* * *

_Present_

Dusk was quickly approaching and Gracia smelled the soothing fragrance of rain in the wind. She had always loved the rain.

She allowed her fingers to travel the engraftment of Hues name on the stone one last time before standing up and brushing the grass off her skirt.

"Goodbye, my love." She said and this time there was no reply. "I shall return to you soon."

She began to walk toward the house, not looking back. She had long since passed the time where looking back was needed. But she knew if she had, she would see him, envision him as he once was; smile and everything; his laughter carrying through the wind.

* * *

_Night: Winry's house_

Winry awoke in the dead of night to Edward's painful moan. Having never left his room that evening after explaining her friend's history, Winry squeezed the hand he had grasped during the night as a way of reassurance but still he thrashed his arm, pulling roughly away from her hold. It took all her strength to hold down his one arm so he wouldn't hurt himself. When his struggles refused to let up, the young mechanic leaned in close, placing her cheek against the side of his sweaty face and began whispering a collage of soothing words so he would calm. Winry didn't know if it was her proximity or the knowledge that he wasn't alone that made his breathing ease and made the tension of his muscles release.

"It's okay," she alleviated quietly into his ear, brushing away the damp strands of his golden wheat hair. "I am here, Edward, you are safe."

Though he had not awakened, his unconscious form leaned toward her and Winry found herself settling on his bed and she leaned her back against the wooden headboard. She helped carry and direct his head to her lap and his hands curled around to grasp her knee; his restlessness had all but ceased.

With her childhood friend in her arms, Winry stared blankly at the far side of the room, thankful that he was not awake to see the tears shining in her eyes and thankful that he was not witnessing her moment of weakness. She turned back down to him, gently wiping away the sweat of his brow with the sleeves of her nightgown.

"It's gonna be okay, Ed," she said again, "because _I love you_ and nothing you say or do or become will ever change that."

* * *

In an AU world I can imagine Hughes being just like that. I hope it wasn't too overdone. I tend to have a love for the painfully, bittersweet moments in life. Perhaps that's why I love war stories so much. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I promise that the next chapter won't take near as long. Summer is here and so is my free time. That and I'm really getting into this story. You'll be getting a feel for Ed's reaction to Hughes' story in the next chapter.

Your thoughts on this chapter would very much be appreciated! And as always, CC welcomed.

**Also, come check out my new oneshot _Dancing Cinderella! _**


	8. Part 8: Laughter

Thanks so much for the feedback, guys! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much and am happy to say that this chapter has a lighter feeling to it than the others. I especially enjoyed writing it. So read and enjoy.

* * *

_Chapter Eight; Laughter_

That morning was an especially beautiful one for Winry. It wasn't that it was any different that the many others she had witnessed, because it was just as unique, but instead its vibrancy was no longer muted by morning weariness. She sat on the porch steps, at peace within herself for the first time in many years. She had no explanation for this inner revival and so she reasoned not to question in just yet. And so the young mechanic took simple joy from the rising sun and the warmth it kissed upon her pale skin and from the heady scent of dew and morning that filled her lungs.

"Beautiful," was all she could murmur as she took a sip of her now lukewarm coffee.

There had been a nagging twitch in her fingers all night and as she stared over at her work shed her twitch turned into giddiness. Her smile became broad and there was a bounce in her step as she began to start the day.

* * *

On this day, Edward awoke to the insistent rhythm of a handsaw, grinding back and forth. He blinked drearily and listened as the sound broke off with a sudden _zziipp! _He was depressed to find that the silence dared not linger as the loud thumping of a hammer followed suit.

It was pure curiosity that drove Edward out of bed and what encouraged him into his wheelchair. The nub of his shoulder and thigh had all but healed and so he no longer dreaded to pain of jostling it. It was routine now, to pull the chair close to the bed and to grasp onto the bed stand and to shuffle himself slowly into the seat. It was a routine he had become use to, one that no longer depressed him as it once had.

But his thoughts drifted back to Hues' predicament—how he handled being handicapped by clinging to his wife for support. How his life had been taken from him so soon…

He suddenly felt fortunate to have his health—and his body; useless as it may be.

He wheeled his way into the kitchen where he met by the sight of Winry bursting through the door, a glass of water in hand that she was quickly downed in two gulps. She was dressed in her work overalls and a sleeveless shirt underneath and was positively filthy. Upon seeing him a smile lit her features. Something within him stirred.

"Good," she said, "you're awake."

Ed became cautions. "Yes… what are you doing?"

Again there was that mischievous sparkle in her lovely blue eyes.

"You'll see. Come on and get dressed in your grunge clothes. We're going for a ride."

* * *

They didn't hit the main road, Ed noted silently while watching the passing of pines from the window of Winry's old Chevy. He also noticed that she was staying close to the backwoods and that that huge, infuriating grin was still etched deeply into her countenance. He recognized their destination but had yet to figure the purpose for it.

They were quiet for the ten-minute drive to the pond and Ed still could not figure out what in the world was going through his friend's mind. It was kind of frightening. He was starting to think she was as insane as Al sometimes believed. But deep down, he already knew that. They pulled up to their old sweet spot and Winry jumped out and got his wheelchair out from the trailer-bed and quickly set it beside his door. Though he no longer needed the assistance in getting in his chair, she lingered by as a precaution. Once she was appeased that he was settled she ran back to help Den to the ground.. She made a grab for something else.

He nearly sputtered. "Fishing poles, Winry? Are you _mad_?"

She actually had the nerve to look smug. "You know the answer to that one. Now come on!"

He followed with some difficulty because of the jutting roots, but he made it to the gazebo and stopped before wheeling onto the dock. Winry set down her gear at the far end of the dock where there was no safety beam and went back to the truck for the rest of the stuff. But Ed's gaze was centered on lake. The water was clear and flawless. There was not a single ripple in its surface and was a perfect mirror for even the slightest detail. Even the color of the massive, towering pines could be seen to the smallest shade. He was breathless…

"Looks better that it did before, doesn't it?"

He looked at Winry, surprised at her quiet approach. She smiled at him. "Sometimes it takes a little time to bring out the beauty is something."

He laughed, but it came out mockingly. Her lips turned down.

Ed waved away her look and took notice of the belt-like wrap in her hand. "What's that?"

"This is what's going to help you catch the beast of the lake."

"He's still in here?" He raised a brow.

"I've been busy! But now that your back maybe you can catch him."

"And what about you?"

Winry made a face. "If this sucker is as big as I think he is then I'm not about to follow that whole 'clean what you catch rule'. I'll leave that to you."

He didn't point out the fact that he wouldn't be able to clean the fish anyways but he felt no need to dampen her mood. Not when she was ever oblivious of the slip.

"So how am I going to do this?"

He regretted asking. Winry's way of an explanation was to show an example. Well, he was the example and once she strapped him into the horrid contraption, he found there was no going back. It was a harness that slipped over his head and strapped snuggly onto his waist. Winry had thought to pad the ropes so they wouldn't grate against his skin. Near his lower belly a long, singular piece of PBC pipe was secured for the rod. All he really had to do was to sit and reel. It was ingenious.

He still felt ridiculous.

Ed watched, bemused, as Winry bated his hook and handed him the rod. He took it, wincing at his awkwardness began to grow more pronounced. With his middle finger he pulled back the medal reel and with his pointer he held the string in place. Stretching his arm as far back as the tendons would allow, Ed removed his pointer finger when cast out. But there was too much force behind his cast and the bait came back to wrap angrily around his pole. He growled.

"It's alright." Winry said calmly. "Try it again."

This time Ed forced himself to breathe. This was not a thirty pound weapon to knock someone upside the head with. All it took was the gentle flick of the wrist. In fishing, a little force went a long way.

Ed repeated his earlier motions and cast out once more, but this time the bait flew out into the center of the pond. He felt a spark of accomplishment but held back his grin. He looked over at Winry, half expecting some kind of congratulations, but was pleased to see she had already laid out across the dock, that ridiculous straw hat of granny's covering her face to block out the sun.

"See?" she said, "Now catch dinner."

They spent the afternoon in contented silence, and for Ed it felt good to do something on his own and at his own pace. At that moment it was just him and the lake and nothing was stopping him from fishing in it. No impairment, no restraints.

He was perfectly _capable. _

It wasn't till two o'clock that Ed began to grow bored.

Not one damn bite.

Now when it came to fishing, Ed considered himself a very patient man but this was ridiculous.

"Winry,"

No answer.

"Winry,"

He glared down at the sleeping woman.

"Winry!"

She jerked upright, her hat flying forward into the water. "What's the matter?" She looked at him, her blue eyes wide in shock and confusion. She looked almost lost.

"Why the hell am I fishing if there is no fish?"

Her eyes narrowed. "That's why you _yelled_ at me?"

"I've been sitting here since nine this morning and I haven't had a single bite!"

His friend sighed and stood up, wobbling slightly as she did so. She reached for the rod.

"Let me have a go. Maybe it just takes a woman's gentle touch to lure these fish. They're just too smart for man."

He pulled the rod out of her reach. "You think you can fish better than _I _can? Don't make me laugh, Winry! The last time we all fished you caught Al's pants and my hand—I still have the scar to prove it!"

"But I also caught the six-incher that day, or have you forgotten?"

"No I haven't forgotten," he growled, "you stole the pole out of my hands!"

"Ugh, just give me the stick!"

They wrestled with the pole for a good minute before Ed felt the distinctive, but an undeniable jerk on the line. Winry must have felt it too for she let him have the pole. They waited, anxious and tense as Ed felt another tug on his line before the pole started to bend.

"Pull it in!" Winry hissed.

"I am!"

He began to slowly pull it in, not wanting the line to stress so much that it would snap. The trick was to gradually coax the fish in, and when he became close enough to see, you'd pull back the pole and finish reeling him on in. It was every fisherman's flawless technique.

"It's the beast!" Winry said, excitedly. "Careful, now,"

It was the Beast of Brandy Branch, alright. The bass had to at least be a ten pounder! The biggest they had ever found in the pond. And Ed had caught him.

The fish floundered in air as Ed swung him close to the dock for Winry to grab. Anxious as she was, she was practically leaning over the water, reaching for the mouth of the dangling fish. There was a bark behind them followed by the sound of Den's feet pounding quickly along the dock.

"Stop, you stupid mutt!" Ed yelled, dropping his pole, and attempted to fist his hand in the dog's fur to stop it from jumping after the fish. But he missed the animal by a hair and Den's shaggy body went crashing into the back of Winry's legs. She screamed, falling forward and falling head first into the water, the fish right behind her.

"Winry!" Ed yelled, panic flooding him. He didn't know how shallow or what was buried beneath the sand. "Are you alright!"

When he heard her sputtering cough and saw her flailing hands he sighed with relief. But his earlier fear was quickly overridden by the bubbling laughter that escaped his lips.

"If I'd known you wanted the bass that bad I would have just let you have the pole. No need to go swimming for it!"

Though he knew he wasn't suppose to hear it, being un-ladylike and all, her quick explicative brought even more laughter upon him and brought tears to his eyes.

"Not funny, Edward!"

"It was from up here!"

He quickly discarded the harness and wheeled himself closer to the edge. Her shirt clung unnaturally to her form and her overalls were weighing her down as she rolled herself back onto the dock. She smiled up at him in a way that made the warning bells go off in his head.

"Can't let you miss out in all the fun, Edward, dear." It was only then that he realized the straw hat clutched tightly in one hand and the large amount of water spilling through it. Normally he wouldn't have allowed her to do something like this without some kind of retaliation in return, but was surprised when she sat directly on his lap. The water from her overalls quickly seeped into his own jeans.

"Happy swimming," she smiled at him and placed the hat on his head. The water dripped down his neck and back and over his face. He sputtered, the water flying toward Winry who laughed it off.

With his arm around Winry's waist, he had no hand to wipe away the pond water from his face. "You know… I'm not the one who pushed you in."

Her laughter brought that odd feeling back into his chest. The feeling only intensified when her hands started to gently wipe off the water from his eyes, from his brow and cheeks.

"I know," his eyes opened to her smile. She had been doing that a lot, lately, "but didn't want you to feel unloved. I'm sure Den would have pushed you in also had she not known she would have gotten beat if she did."

When he only sighed, Winry's smiled suddenly dimmed and the hand caressing his face suddenly halted. He knew she had just realized their positions, suddenly remembered the wet, sleeveless shirt she wore was clinging to her in ways that it shouldn't be. Ed had most certainly, almost painfully been aware. But it wasn't that that had him so transfixed, but instead it was the look in her sky blue eyes as she looked down on him. He saw more past her defenses in that instant than she had ever allowed him to see—even before he had left for the war.

Abruptly she stood. "We had better get going." She gathered up the stuff before opting to look at him again. Her grin suddenly had a mischievous light to it. "You should try that look more often, farmer-boy. A ten-gallon straw hat really does suit you."

Her playful comment flew over his head as he followed her to the truck. His mind was still reeling by look he had seen in her eyes.

* * *

They made it back to the house and Winry had been oddly silent for the journey home. But Ed hadn't minded, his own thoughts too occupied in a certain direction to care. He noticed her oddly stiff posture as she walked around the truck to get his wheelchair. Suddenly, he grinned.

"Britches shrinking on you, Win?"

"Clamp it."

* * *

With his clothes changed and Winry currently in the shower, Ed took the opportunity to check the mailbox for his funds from the service. He had chewed it out of Mustang to get his money earlier than the state had planned for the Marines. It was what was allowing Winry to stay home instead of venturing out from work to support them.

His hand sifted through the box next to the door and pulled out a hand full of envelopes. Easily, his eyes found the military coat of arms on an envelope addressed to him, but he caught sight of another that made his pulse throb. It was in Winry's handwriting and it had been addressed to Al. But written across the front in red, and as clear as day, were the words:

_Return To Sender_

* * *

You knew the peace wouldn't last, right? There has to be some kind of drama…

This was the first of the EdWin moments to come. Things should start heating up from here and I'm most definitely looking forward to the challenge. Again, sorry that Al's predicament is still unknown. I'm just going with the flow here.

On another note, the dock and the gazebo I described are real places. And during one of my photography spurts, I took this snapshot of the dock which happens to be right through the woods from my Uncle's house. In fact, the entire setting for MLMS is based off an area in Georgia (though it doesn't actually take place there in the story). You can find the link on my profile page.

And if you want to know what Ed's fishing harness looked like, you can also find that on my profile. The image that comes up is slightly more modern than the one I described here.

_**Please drop a comment! **_


	9. Part 9: Those Who Wait

**To Recap**: _Broken from war, Edward finds himself under the watchful eye of Winry. Healing comes slowly, and so does his hope. Alphonse's whereabouts are still unknown. As of last chapter, Ed and Winry share a lighthearted day at the lake until Ed finds a letter addressed to Alphonse with the words "Return to Sender" on the front. Their day has suddenly taken a turn for the worse._

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello, faithful readers! This one is for you. And to prove it to you, I'm determined to finish this story during the summer. We're reaching an end, and I have to say the jouney has been fun. :)**

* * *

_Chapter Nine: Those Who Wait_

* * *

He had become angry. So very angry that Winry felt herself emotionally cornered as the former soldier raged.

"_When did you get this?" _His voice trembled and in the effort to contain his anger he crumpled the letter beneath his hand, shaking it accusingly at her.

Winry stood to gain her ground. Ed followed her movements and she saw that he became even angrier with the deliberate change in height. This was not Ed but the man that had become part of him courtesy of the war. Knowing this and therefore understanding it, she would not let him demean her in any form, especially when he was overreacting.

"It only just arrived." She told him quietly. "It hasn't been long."

"Then why the _hell_ didn't you tell me!"

"Because I knew you would assume the worst."

"Al's my brother!"

Winry stood there, motionless, allowing him to rave against her. Her face became stony, and she held it so knowing it was her only defense. It was pride that kept her from showing her hurt—and even her anger. She felt tears burn her eyes.

"And you don't even care." His words were seething. Her were becoming glassy, her face showed something else entirely.

"Don't," she raised her finger against him to silence his words. And to accuse. "I have loved Al as a brother. I have written him every week since he left, and I will continue to do so until he returns. Just as I did for you." Listening to the silence hurt. "And I can count on two hands the number of letters I sent to you that returned." Winry snatched the crumpled paper from his loosened fingers. "This is part of the waiting process so buckle up.''

* * *

The smell was what brought him to, that horrid, acrid smell that stuck to hospital walls and beds and people. It made his stomach tighten. The smell of open and rotten flesh always did make him sick. Sight was second to come; blurry images and scattered thoughts, nothing around him made sense. It was like trying to wake up but not being able to. It wasn't until later he realized it was the drugs in his system. He had never experienced the light feeling of the drugs he used on others—he froze. And he remembered.

Screams, gunfire and blood and war. Alphonse knew he had been shot but couldn't feel anything at all on his left shoulder.

"Medical Officer Alphonse Elric," The voice was female; firm but kind. "Welcome back."

His mouth was dry and his eyes were blurry. And with a floating head, Al didn't trust himself to make a coherent response. The nurse must have realized this because she quietly hushed him and put a cool hand to his brow. It was a foreign feeling… but not a bad one.

"You'll be back soon enough," she said. "I'm certain you'll be hungry."

And he drifted. That seemed to be all he was doing lately.

* * *

It was different, he realized. For years he remembered waking up to an aching hunger in his belly that he knew could not be satisfied. It was the smell of eggs frying on the stove that coaxed him back into the world of the living. Or maybe it was the drool he felt sliding down his chin that finally made him move. At least he knew his body's response system was still in check. His medical training had him going down a checklist, wiggling his toes first, then his knees, legs, fingers and hands. He went to move his shoulder but found it had begun to throb, though it didn't hurt overly. Al opened his eyes; the room swam and he closed them again. It took another half hour to fight against the medication to wake up his body. Sitting up felt like an accomplishment.

"Officer Elric, you're awake." The soft voice of a nurse came from behind. He remembered that voice.

"I bet you're hungry." It had been so long since he had seen beauty that he was struck motionless by it. The nurse's skin was naturally tanned and he wondered where her family was from. Dark brown eyes were a striking compliment to that complexion, and brown hair fell softly on her shoulders.

"Who are…"

"Oh, I'm sorry." She smiled sheepishly at him. "I'm Noah, assistant head nurse to this hospital. You're back in the states, Officer Elric. Main, to be precise."

His mind reeled. He was back in the states? "If I knew all I had to do to get back here was get shot, I would have done it sooner." His laughter was as dry as his humor. He had wanted to come home more than anything, but he had also decided to take up the fight on behalf of his family and country. He regretted neither. Home takes on a whole new meaning when it's something you'll see maybe once a year. He wondered how Winry was doing. And Ed? He prayed he was okay.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Noah asked him.

"Yes!" He was feeling odd. Was this happiness? "It's been a while since I've had an American Breakfast."

* * *

With the hunger in his belly sated, Al began to pay attentions to the wounds on his body and the ones in his mind. He found he seldom slept without nightmares. Despair and pain never lay far beneath the surface.

"Ms. Noah," he asked the next morning. "Will you send a letter for me?"

Her eyes studied the address on the front of the envelope he handed her. "Of course. Is this to your sweetheart?"

Al smiled a little. "No, ma'am. She's a childhood friend of mine."

She smiled at him and he found he was beginning to look forward to that smile. "Okay, Mr. Elric, I'll be sure to send this right away."

"And one more thing…" he added, handing her another piece of paper."I know it's difficult, but if there is any way possible, can you track down the location of this officer for me? He's my brother. _I need to find him."_

* * *

_This is part of the waiting process, so buckle up._

Edward looked out at Winry's work shed. She had been in there all afternoon, running the table saw and hammering away. He gritted his teeth and turned away from the window. He knew he shouldn't have snapped at her. It had been a long time since he had become that angry, and in turn he became angry at himself for unleashing it on her. Winry had always been in his life and he somehow always managed to hurt her. It was his defense for his heart, he realized, a way to keep her out. Even now at his weakest, he was hurting her, and she was loving him.

_Loving me_. He tested the thought and he felt his chest constrict with pain that seemed almost physical. She didn't love him. How could she love what was broken? Winry was a natural healer of any person's spirit. It only made sense she'd want to help him. This same old war raged within him and he feared if he would ever be able to let it go.

_Waiting process…_

He wondered if Al was alright. He was his brother and it felt as if a piece of himself was lost. They jointed the fight together with the intention of living and dying together—whichever one came first. Not much thought had been given to the possibility of only one survivor. After the death of their parents it had just been the two of them. He shuddered at the thought of it just being _him._ Ed wasn't even whole so why should he be allowed home and Alphonse lost somewhere in enemy land? His hands raked through his hair to hold his head. Damn frustrating! How people like Winry and Elesia spend most of their lives waiting for answers, he didn't know. Waiting led to thinking which led to dwelling which fed the well of anxieties he had created inside his spirit. His body began to shake as he began to realize that if his body was broken, then his spirit was shattered.

For the first time in his life, Edward Elric prayed to a God he thought had abandoned thought of him long ago.

"_God, please help me…"_

He wept.

* * *

Sitting on her garden bench, Winry breathed deeply. It felt wonderful after working nearly all afternoon. She loved the smells of Jasmine and of her Roses in the summer time. They soothed her heart and helped her relax. She seemed to be needing both in abundance lately.

"Winry,"

She tensed, unprepared for another emotional bout with the broken soldier.

"Winry?" he said again. His voice was tentative and she wondered at his change of tone. It was unlike any she had heard since she had been here. She looked over her shoulder and stood at what she saw. Never in all of their lives together had she seen Edward cry. He was a proud child who grew into a proud man; an emotion like sadness wasn't allowed. His eyes showed everything he had never been able to say.

"Ed?"

"I'm so sorry, Winry." His voice was hoarse from holding back. "_For everything. _I-I'm worried about Alphonse. He's all I have left."

Months in the same house and never had Ed come to himself so fully. Her heart was moved by what she saw and she grabbed the hand of the broken soldier and kissed it. She stepped closer and placed Ed's only arm around her hips, and drew his head close to rest on her stomach, much like she would a child. His arm tightened around her and again he wept, for he found that once he started, he could not stop. The flow of twenty years of lost tears was not easily stopped.

"Edward," she said quietly, "You've never been alone. You'll never be alone." Her fingers were feather-light on his hair. It reminded him of his mother. "We're in this wait together."

A funny thing how the mind works for it never occurred to him that he didn't have to do this by himself.

* * *

_Please Review!_


	10. Part 10: Gift of Hello

A/N: Thank you, faithful readers, for sticking with me for so long. I am determined to finish this story to the end. I'm happy to say that it will only be a few more chapters until then. And it will be completed before September.

* * *

My Love, My Soldier

-  
Part Ten: Gift of Hello

It was a spiral of answered prayers after Ed's reconciliation within himself. Despite the past, and despite his handicap, living didn't seem so bad anymore. The chaotic knot of emotions was no longer strong enough to restrict his breathing, and it echoed its sorrow only in the deepest part of his dreams. Bitterness having left, he could distinguish emotional hurt from his anger, and sadness from his self-loathing. It was strange to wake up to silence inside his mind, but Edward was so very thankful for it. He now cherished the breath that filled his lungs and for each new morning. Perhaps it sounded corny, but he was liberated.

Things between him and Winry had greatly improved; their conversations were lighthearted and their banter playful. Even more natural than when they had been fishing on the dock. The more time he spent in this new spirit, the deeper he fell in love with her— something he didn't think that was possible. He felt apprehension at having taken such a sharp dive off his precipice—after all, he had not forgotten the absence of his arm and leg and the hard life that in promised.

But there was no use in dwelling on it. He could only enjoy the time spent with her. Needless to say, he became very good at 'not' thinking about things.

It took some time but Ed managed to roll himself out of bed and into his wheelchair, eventually wheeling himself to the kitchen. The countertops were clean and bright with the morning sun's reflection. There was a note on the fridge.

_Good morning!_

_I had to run into town to pick up something important. I'm not sure when I'll be back so don't worry if it's late. Muffins are on the table. Leftovers are in the fridge for lunch and dinner._

_See you soon,_

_Love Winry_

His eyes lingered on the "Love" before glancing at the stove where the muffin pan sat, their warmth protected by a kitchen towel. He wondered where she had gone and why she hadn't left any prior notice. He grabbed a plate for his muffins and made his way out to the garden.

…

Someone once said that life was just a series of hellos and goodbyes. We seem to remember one better than the other. But all Winry could remember was that she had never had the chance to say goodbye. Perhaps that's why she was nervous for a hello. And so her hands trembled as she unfolded the letter she received earlier that morning for the hundredth time.

_Winry,_

_Do you remember me? I was the little boy who used peanut butter to get the gum my brother put in your hair out. I'm Alphonse Elric and it feels like a century has passed since I've been able to respond to your letters. They've never failed to find me in the worst of times and given me hope. I'm a little bruised but, guess what?_

I'm ready tome come home.

The letter didn't carry on much longer. It carried a brief description of his wounds and the name of the military hospital he resided in. He hadn't inquired about Edward.

She and Ed had been given another chance at a hello! The only reason she had withheld such glorious news from Ed was so she could make certain it was real. She might be able to handle heartbreak again, but Ed could not handle his brother's death twice. It would kill him to have his hope twice strangled. And he knew her too well not to realize something was going on. She would not lie to him.

The old ford hit pothole, making Winry bounce uncomfortably. Dang it! The jolt started the waterworks anew and the next hour was spent sobbing, and fanning her eyes in hopes of getting rid of the evidence.

…

Life after war was a war itself. Al sat by himself on one of the park benches in the hospital garden, wringing his hands and fidgeting. There was nothing to do! It was no wonder that so many soldiers suffered from depression when they returned to the states. To go from protecting millions to becoming a hospital invalid was threatening to push him into madness. It was only his gentle, reasoning nature that fought against that rashness. But until someone came to release him, or until the doctor gave him a clean bill of health, he was to stay put.

It was driving him insane.

He wanted find his brother, he wanted to find him and he wanted to go home to Winry. His life had been spared and whatever was left, he wanted to devote to becoming a family again. He was ready for home.

So caught up in his thoughts, Al jumped a little when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Relief flooded his soul when he realized who it was.

"Winry!"

…

On the way home, Winry told him that Edward was alive.

Speechless, Al could only clench his hands around the edges of the old truck seat.

Winry glanced at him. "He's not the same, Al. But he's doing better. He was caught in the blast of a nearby zippo tank. The burns on his arm and leg were so extensive that they needed to amputate them. When he first came to live with me, Ed was real bitter. The war… the war messed him up in the worst way possible, Al."

Al groaned, placing his head in his hands. He hurt for his brother—he knew that Ed was a prideful man. Such injuries could have very well destroyed him.

"But he's had a recent change of heart." A small smile played at her lips. "Don't underestimate him. Ed has always managed to excel in the worst-case-scenario." Then her tone changed to a warning, surprising Al. "And whether you want it to or not, your presence will remind him again of what he's lost. You need to remind him of the life that he still has."

"Yes ma'am." He could only smile at Winry's protectiveness. And with that, conversation about Ed was tucked neatly in the back pocket, and Al mentally prepared himself and the nervous energy inside his gut for their fast approaching reunion. His brother was alive! And he truly couldn't have been any more thankful. They really would be a family again soon.

…..

Some of the tension eased from Ed's chest as he heard the old Ford start down the driveway. He didn't understand why he was so nervous, only that he was. It wasn't like her to be gone all day without telling the details. She knew he was still prone to bouts of paranoia and usually helped him avoid it. He hated being a worry-wart of an old man!

The screen door opened and Winry shouted; "Ed, are you awake!"

"Yeah, in here!"

She walked hesitantly around the corner, smiling, out of breath and crying. "I have a surprise for you... I promise… this is not a dream."

His confusion only lasted until a man stepped in from the hallway. 'It had to be dream' was his only coherent thought as Alphonse Elric stood in their living room in a fitting white T and green army pants. His smile and his eyes were the only things that appeared to be the same.

"Commander Elric, Alphonse Elric at your service!" he saluted and fell to the ground before his brother, clasping his arm and pulling him into an embrace. Neither man attempted to hide his tears or his scars, both overwhelmed by the unexpected gift of hello.

…

Neither soldier had gone to bed that night. Instead they chose to stay on the porch, talking about the time missed together until the sun returned to the wake the world for a new day. Ed had not been able to talk about the war so openly since his accident, and to do so with Al… Breathing was becoming easier. Joy was indeed a good replacement for heartache.

"'Morning, boys!" Winry stepped out from the screen door and onto the porch where they sat; two cups of coffee and a plate of muffins balanced between her hands and arms. The hunger in his belly made Al quick to relieve her of her burden. After all these years… she was still making muffins for breakfast. Al wondered if she could make anything else. "I'll be in the garden if you two need anything." She smiled prettily at them both and left, spade and a big floppy hat in hand.

"So…" Al smirked, clearly noting Ed's attentiveness to Winry as she knelt in the dirt of her garden, removing stubborn weeds and trimming back roses. "Are you going to ask her out any time soon?"

He was quick to glare at his brother. "Shut up, Alphonse. You don't know what you're talking about."

Some things would never change. "Brother, since I came home, you've done nothing but give her doe-eyes." He snorted. "And I thought it was bad when we were kids. You're in love with Winry. And she's in love with you."

Ed's face became pained with the words that he would not say. "You've been here less than a day and you're already bossing me around. Winry needs a man that can protect her. She needs a man who can at least walk."

"Winry doesn't care about that!"

"But I do!" Ed snapped. "Look, Al, just leave things where they are. You're home and so am I—for the first time in a long time, we're a family again. I've screwed up a lot of things when I was younger and I'm not going to anymore." His tone held finality and his eyes warned that Al should go no further into this conversation. And, with a heavy sigh, he wheeled himself into the house, leaving a troubled Al.

Unable to hear their conversation from where she was at, but noticing Ed's passionate exit, Winry dropped the pile of small weeds she had collected in her hand and went to stand at the foot of the porch. "Have mercy on him, Al." She shielded her eyes with her muddy glove. "Ed has gone through a lot… but he's gotten a lot better lately. And with you home I think it will help."

"Hm."

Winry smiled. "I know that look. What are you thinking?"

Enthusiasm made him scoot to the edge of his seat. "Winry, you're good with mechanics. I'm good with wood. Between the two of us we just might be able to make this a reality."

"Okay?" She was clearly confused.

"Let's help my brother walk again."

* * *

Please let me know what you think!


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